osed to you.
Human beings hate the man who shows kindness to their enemies. In the
last few months, during which you have ruled independently, both parties
have been offended by your miserable indecision. The man who runs
backwards and forwards like a child, makes no progress, and is soon
weary. I have till now--till I felt that death was near--always
encouraged the Greeks and opposed the priests. In the active business of
life, the clever, brave Greeks seemed to me especially serviceable; at
death, I want men who can make me out a pass into the nether regions.
The gods forgive me for not being able to resist words that sound so
like a joke, even in my last hour! They created me and must take me as
I am. I rubbed my hands for joy when I became king; with thee, my son,
coming to the throne is a graver matter.--Now call Neithotep back; I
have still something to say to you both."

The king gave his hand to the high-priest as he entered, saving: "I
leave you, Neithotep, without ill-will, though my opinion that you have
been a better priest than a servant to your king, remains unaltered.
Psamtik will probably prove a more obedient follower than I have been,
but one thing I wish to impress earnestly on you both: Do not dismiss
the Greek mercenaries until the war with the Persians is over, and has
ended we will hope--in victory for Egypt. My former predictions are not
worth anything now; when death draws near, we get depressed, and things
begin to look a little black. Without the auxiliary troops we shall be
hopelessly lost, but with them victory is not impossible. Be clever;
show the Ionians that they are fighting on the Nile for the freedom of
their own country--that Cambyses, if victorious, will not be contented
with Egypt alone, while his defeat may bring freedom to their own
enslaved countrymen in Ionia. I know you agree with me, Neithotep, for
in your heart you mean well to Egypt.--Now read me the prayers. I feel
exhausted; my end must be very near. If I could only forget that poor
Nitetis! had she the right to curse us? May the judges of the dead-may
Osiris--have mercy on our souls! Sit down by me, Ladice; lay thy hand on
my burning forehead. And Psamtik, in presence of these witnesses, swear
to honor and respect thy step-mother, as if thou wert her own child. My
poor wife! Come and seek me soon before the throne of Osiris. A widow
and childless, what hast thou to do with this world? We brought up
Nitetis as our own dau